


Thirteen Days

by Reishiin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: (sorry ravus), Canon Divergence, Cooking, Driving, Emotional Repression, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Loyalty, M/M, Post-Altissia, adverse weather, defrosting ice prince, episode aranea references, fighting daemons, forced to drive a long distance together, ignis learns the pastry recipe, magitek prosthetic complications, ravus learns elemancy, roadtrip (niflheim edition), the end of the world as we know it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 15:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20117473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/pseuds/Reishiin
Summary: Ravus levels Ignis with a stare. "You are asking me to walk into the heart of a nation who wants my head, to save the life of the man responsible for the destruction of my home.""Lady Lunafreya wished for Noctis to live," Ignis replies. A low blow, he knows, to invoke the Oracle's name now. But Ignis' first duty is, and will always be, to Noctis.Ardyn takes Noctis to Gralea, and Ignis and Ravus roadtrip through Niflheim to find him.





	1. Day 0: Altissia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pirotess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirotess/gifts).

> Hi pirotess, thank you for the great prompt and I hope the rest of your exchange is awesome. Here you go, enemies to friends to lovers while being forced to drive a long distance together.
> 
> Eternal gratitude to [Sara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanadka/) for betareading. You rock, and thank you for your time, patience and help with everything. All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> [Niff map](https://preview.redd.it/xjoj4y6gq4r01.png?width=960&crop=smart&auto=webp&s=789dda89945eb77782355387140a9d0094766d7e) for reference; they take the same route the train did.

Ravus Nox Fleuret is standing by the window.

Six days after the covenant with the Hydraean, the sky over Altissia is incongruously clear, and the concrete wreckage of Altissia's oceanside roads bake in the midmorning heat. The door is ajar and Ignis knocks lightly. "Ravus."

He turns, recognition faintly crossing his face. 

"Don't go outside," Ignis continues. "Niflheim is searching for you and the First Secretary can only protect you here."

The man is barefoot, loose-fitting pale shirt and pants suited to bed rest. One hand rests lightly against the windowsill. Like this, Ravus Nox Fleuret reminds Ignis, very unexpectedly, of Noct in those first days after Insomnia's fall: a prince accustomed to a home now suddenly set adrift. As if, without the unyielding frame of sword belt and military coat, he's not quite sure how to stand on his own.

  
  
  


When Ignis woke up in the safe house he remembered the storming evening sky, the gale-force winds, and the Altar of the Tidemother crumbling beneath the sea spray. Luna and Noctis, hands linked, unconscious on the stone; Chancellor Ardyn's face twisting in a sneer as his boot descended towards Ignis' head. And then, nothing. There is a big blank space where everything else should have been.

Fear had drenched Ignis like a cold waterfall and he summoned a dagger into his left hand, then vanished it. The Armiger still functioned. So Noct must be alive, at least. 

Silence in the Armiger's narrow holding space. Ignis tied a written note to the Engine Blade, then went in search of someone who might know what had happened.

He finds one of the First Secretary's aides in an office on the ground floor, who informed him that the Chancellor had taken the Lucian King and the Oracle and left via airship, just several hours before Commodore Aranea's cleanup and recovery crew arrived. Ignis had spoken to the aide a moment longer, then requested an audience with the First Secretary so that he might thank her himself. 

Camellia Claustra had shielded both Ignis and Ravus Nox Fleuret from Niflheim's search-and-rescue operations on account of the Lucian King's assistance with the Hydraean, and Accordo's once cordial ties with former Tenebrae. Noctis' remaining retainers, she surmises, may not have been as lucky.

Sudden fear for Gladio and Prompto had gripped Ignis' heart again even as he thanked her for her assistance.

"Stay here, Scientia," the First Secretary said. "You must know that darkness is coming to Eos. Accordo could use your help. Of course, we will do what we can for Lucis and King Noctis in return."

Somewhere in the mechanical heart of the Niflheim Empire, Noct is waiting. "There is one matter for which I would ask your assistance."

The Secretary regards him steadily. "And what might that be?"

"Retrieving King Noctis from Gralea," Ignis replies, voice level as if he's talking about the weather. "If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to pick up a few things for a little trip to the Empire."

  
  
  


Ravus had remained unconscious for another two days. Between the injuries he sustained from Ignis and later the Chancellor, Ignis had wondered how the man was even still alive.

Beneath his coat his skin was cool and smooth as marble, the broad expanse of shoulders and torso scattered with the raised scars of old wounds badly healed, a testament to his many years in Niflheim's military. Lines of violet ran the length of his artificial arm, ending in a web of dark veins radiating outward from where the prosthetic meets flesh: magiteknology, Ravus had said that day in Altissia. Strength gained at the cost of humanity. Ignis is not squeamish but the stark vision made his flesh crawl.

Ignis removed a precious potion from Noctis' still-untouched stock and shattered the glass bottle just over Ravus' chest. The magic glittered, sank into the man's flesh, and vanished. He did not wake, and his forehead smoothened as he fell back into untroubled sleep. Ignis covered him with a blanket again before leaving him to rest.

For a brief moment Ignis almost regretted his actions, in case Noctis should come to need that curative. But Ignis also needs Ravus Nox Fleuret alive. If he is to reach Gralea and get Noct back, he will require this man's help.

  
  
  


Ignis leaves Ravus the rest of the morning to re-orient himself, then takes his lunch tray into the common area and sits down opposite him. Late morning light filters through the east-facing window, illuminating the far corners of the room and the complex patterns over the carpet. Ravus glances up at his uninvited lunch companion and says nothing.

"My name is Ignis Scientia," Ignis begins. "Six days ago, I aided you on your way to the Altar of the Tidemother. Now I need your help."

Ravus regards him warily. "And what do you want?"

Ignis lays out the circumstances. The Lucian King is missing, not yet dead, last seen with the Niflheim Chancellor en route to Gralea. Ravus spent half his life in Ulwaat, the other half in Gralea, and is intimately familiar with the climate and terrain of the southern continent. If Ignis is going to attempt to rescue Noctis from the heart of Niflheim, then Ravus is the best candidate as guide.

Ravus levels Ignis with a stare. "You are asking me to walk into the heart of a nation who wants my head, to save the life of the man responsible for the destruction of my home."

His voice is quiet: too exhausted for rage, or too steeped in grief. Ignis recalls again the vision of Ravus holding his sister's body against the storm. Ravus, too, lost much on the Altar of the Tidemother that day. "Lady Lunafreya wished for Noctis to live," Ignis replies. A low blow, he knows, to invoke the Oracle's name now. But Ignis' first duty is, and will always be, to Noctis.

"First my sister, and now you." Ravus' face is contorted with an emotion Ignis cannot place. "Tell me, what is it about that man that makes people throw their lives away for him without a second thought?"

_ He is the future of the world, _ Ignis thinks, but does not say the words. Ravus is not asking, not really. 

Ravus stands and goes to the window again, looking out over the ongoing repair efforts. "And you think that your presence or absence will do anything to change his fate?"

"I do not know. But I have to try," Ignis replies, and follows Ravus to the window. Below, a construction crane and a magitek armor move rubble from the street. Progress, slow but sure. "You can go with me, or you can stay here and wait for Niflheim to find you. And, believe me, they will."

Finally Ravus turns, arms folded, forehead creased in a frown. "If Altissia's rail station is intact, that is the quickest way across the Cygillan Sea."

The response is close enough to acquiescence.

  
  


The open-air balcony of the apartment overlooks the street, and that evening the breeze is cool on Ignis' face, smelling faintly of sea salt. On the outdoor table behind them a narrow tube projects a digital map of the southern continent over the balcony railing. Ravus goes over the route again: they will drive southwest through Succarpe, then northwards through Eusciello until they hit the Ghorovas mountain road, which will take them straight on to Gralea.

Their bags are stacked in the common room, ready to go first thing in the morning. Ignis had had his things picked up from what remained of the party's former lodgings. Between a last-minute shopping trip and the few of Gladio's things that fit, they manage enough clothes for Ravus.

The night before leaving Insomnia had been much like this one: clear and warm, the sounds of nightlife far away in the city beneath. That night, Ignis had also lain awake waiting for the dawn to arrive. 

Already, it seems like a different lifetime.

  
  
  


The freight train to Calcano leaves first thing in the morning. The First Secretary's aide escorts them to the cargo bay and herds them onto a carriage which already contains a series of unmarked cartons. She reminds them that their safe passage is guaranteed from Altissia to Calcano but no further.

Midway to Succarpe, beneath the Cygillan Ocean separating Accordo from Niflheim, the interior of the cargo hold is nearly pitch-black. Ignis clips his portable torchlight to his breast pocket, and by its light he examines the vehicle the First Secretary's aide had provided them for the trip.

The car is an offroader, equipped for long-distance travel through the southern continent's harsh climate. Ravus bends to check something on the driver's door, his sudden proximity making Ignis draw breath sharply. "Niflheim-issue," Ravus observes, tracing a sigil embossed just beneath the handle, barely visible unless one were looking for it. 

Ignis nods. "Vyra said it belonged to a Niflheim diplomat unfamiliar with Accordo's terrain."

"Who must have left it there," Ravus concludes. In the interests of not being recognized he's left his trademark coat in one of his bags, replaced by a pale grey bomber jacket over long pants and sturdy boots. Even away from the imperial army he seems to favour light colours.

He stands and walks around to the other side of the car, still assessing. Ignis watches him go, his profile lean and graceful in the torchlight. 

Impossible to tell what he is thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Altissia initially included a train station ([exploration video via cat cam](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UheXJZBzA8)) and the tracks [emerge on the Niflheim continent from the sea](https://youtu.be/Dms58hFsz74?t=1421), so there are theories that Altissia was at some point in the development linked to Niff by (underwater) train instead of boat.


	2. Day 1: Altissia - Fodina Caestino

The freight train idles in the seaside station.

Trucks drive to and from the carriages, loading cargo for the factories and power plants in the area. This train will remain until evening before returning to Altissia. The domestic railay, outbound for Gralea via Tenebrae, has just left and will not return for another six days.

Midday over Calcano, the sweltering seaside air is tinged with the scent of salt. Ignis waits for a truck to drive off with a large shipping box in tow, then signals the coast is clear. Ravus throws the car in gear, clears the cargo hold, and takes off down the two-lane highway into town.

The southern continent drives on the other side of the road, Ignis observes.

He plugs Ravus' digital map into the in-vehicle GPS, which brings up their previously marked points of interest on the dashboard screen: gas stations, diners, convenience stores, rest stops, outposts, and small towns. The route estimator indicates they will reach Gralea in eight days at current speed, but realistically that is unlikely to be the case.

"So what radio stations are there in Niflheim?" Ignis asks, reaching for the dial. 

"How should I know?" Ravus replies. 

Ignis tries one frequency, then another, landing on static each time. He gives up. Checks his phone out of habit and finds no cell signal, then puts it away.

Already, the silence is stifling. "Are there havens on this continent?" Ignis asks. Sunset is still some time away, but it is best to consider these things early.

"Yes," Ravus says. "The Oracle blessed her own land before she blessed another. What for?" He changes a setting on the GPS and a cluster of new points appear on the map. 

"In case we need an alternative place to spend the night."

Ravus frowns. "We will lose time. We could just go on towards the next stop."

"In Lucis, it is very unwise to travel after dark."

"Why? Because of the daemons?"

"Yes. Is it not like that here?"

Ravus seems to think about it. "We do what we must."

Ignis considers the MTs, rows and rows of mechanical soldiers that need neither food nor sleep nor rest, dispensable and replaceable at a moment's notice. A daemon attack would not cause a magitek platoon a great loss.

Maybe some things in Niflheim do not need defending.

  
  


The GPS indicates they are still several hours out from Fodina Caestino.

Ignis had been aware that Niflheim's economy consists mostly of secondary industry, but this is the first time he sees it for himself: since entering Succarpe, factory buildings and industrial complexes have lined either side of the main highway alongside the occasional small town. The crop fields and farms, if any exist, must be elsewhere. The dying daylight haloes the severe landscape in red.

"Tenebrae," Ravus replies, when Ignis asks. "That's where the agriculture is."

Ignis recalls lessons in the Citadel: the history of Tenebrae is divided into two eras, pre-Occupation and post. "That's recent, isn't it?"

"The climate changed after the incident with the Glacian. Agriculture shifted north, which freed Niflheim to concentrate on manufacturing and technology."

"And with it, the military," Ignis adds. Something outside the window catches his attention. "Ravus, can we stop here?"

"What for?" Ravus asks, but obligingly pulls over. It still feels strange to address Ravus Nox Fleuret by his first name but if they are to travel together they will both have to get used to it quickly.

Ignis backtracks to a promising tuft of greenery on the passenger side of the road. Amidst the soft leaves, he discovers what he expected: a trio of orange tomatoes. Ravus eyes him from inside the car as he returns with the tomatoes carefully carried in his coat. "Ingredients," Ignis replies. At Ravus' quizzical stare, he continues, "For cooking? We'll need to stop for food sometime."

Ravus is looking at him like he's grown a second head. Ignis places the tomatoes on the dashboard as the car starts back up, and the GPS dot indicating their location begins to move again. Ahead, the dusty road stretches on into the distant horizon.

  
  
  
  


The faded sign by the road leading into the small town reads  _ Welcome to Aubedo. _

Sundown, still a couple hours out from Cartanica. While Ravus fills the gas tank Ignis heads into the store, and finds with disappointment that the shelf usually reserved for Ebony in the drinks section contains instead a cardboard sign:  _ Sorry, out of stock indefinitely.  _ Similar signs lie on other shelves throughout the store. Ignis asks the clerk behind the counter, careful to speak slowly to disguise his Lucian accent, and is told that the industrial area deep in the Ghorovas has recently suffered a series of natural disasters, disrupting the supply chain of everything from canned coffee to the magitek military.

Ignis steps back outside and makes an efficient round of the surrounding facilities: gas station, convenience store, chocobo rental, supply shop, diner, motel, a hunter outpost fallen into disrepair. Even on a completely different continent, the trappings of life on the road are familiar.

As is the sound of someone swearing at the prices on the pump. It's strange to think of the Niflheim High Commanders as people concerned with everyday things like how much gas costs.

Ignis comes around the back to check. "... 1.35G per gallon is not a bad price at all. Where exactly do you fill your tank?"

"At the BusseMobil on the corner of Fifth and Main. Not that that means anything to you."

Ignis starts to wonder out loud whether a Niflheim gil is not actually comparable to a Lucian gil, and spends another few minutes quizzing Ravus on the prices of a bus ride, a month's rent, a Crow's Nest burger...

Ravus' patience, wearing thin, finally snaps. "How should I know? I don't eat there."

"Good choice." Ignis says, thinking of Noct and Prompto and plates piled with more grease than fries.

The pump clicks and Ravus takes the chance to cut the conversation short.

He seems to have every intention of continuing throughout the night, but Ignis intercedes. "There won't be another proper rest stop until deep in Eusciello. We should break for the day."

Ravus, clearly unused to taking such instructions from someone else, thinks about it for a long time before acquiescing.

The motel owner takes their money and their false names without question. If she recognizes Niflheim's former military commander, she gives no sign. The atmosphere is strangely like the outer reaches of Lucis: as if the crown holds no power and gil is the only language with meaning.

Ignis waves Ravus into the room first and says he has something to ask the proprietor about, and returns about an hour later with two plates of steamed fish.

"Thank you," Ravus says curtly. He seems somewhat surprised. "Why go to the trouble?"

"It's no trouble," Ignis replies. "Food is always needed, and a good meal raises the spirits." He wonders what Ravus Nox Fleuret likes to eat. But it doesn't seem like the time to ask.

Somehow Ravus does not strike Ignis as the sort of commander who sits around a campfire drinking watered-down beer with his men, as the Crownsguard used to. He eats in silence, the motions of pushing food into his mouth and chewing and swallowing as mechanical as a routine task he might resent.

Abruptly Ignis misses the warmth of an open-air campfire after dark, and the click of Prompto's camera in the evening light after the washing-up.

"What kind of fish is it?" asks Ravus.

"Trevally, native to Lucis." Then, "Noctis caught that one."

"He's gotten better at fishing since he was in Tenebrae."

"Ravus, he must have been  _ eight _ ."

Ravus might have cracked a smile, or it might just be a trick of the light. Out of habit Ignis almost asks if Ravus and Lunafreya had tagged along on that expedition, or how the fishing is in Ulwaat. But they're not close enough yet for Ignis to ask about Lunafreya, the wounds of Altissia still too raw between them, and the words die in his throat.

That night Ignis tosses and turns, unable to sleep, and eventually gets up and goes to the window. Ravus' duffel lies at the foot of one bed, but aside from that one item, he seems to have left his side of the room neater than he found it. Ignis was Crownsguard for two years, and recognizes the austere habits of a military man. But Ignis is also used to seeing Iris' stuffed toys lining Gladio's living room, or cleaning up Noctis' apartment after Prompto stayed the night. Personal effects, even when they make a mess, are a sign of life.

Ravus strikes Ignis as someone who has learned to do without it.

Noctis has a Carbuncle keychain clipped to the handle of his own bag. Ignis thinks about that small plush toy, then quietly opens the door and goes outside. The sky is vast and scattered with stars. He opens the Armiger and calls a dagger to hand. Summon, spin, vanish, summon, spin, vanish. Every soft crystalline chime of the Armiger's magic is a reminder that Noctis is still alive.

Ignis offers silent supplication to the Astrals, wherever they are, to keep Noctis safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Niflheim visuals from [out-of-bounds videos](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dms58hFsz74) \- a lot of the region was built to be explorable and we just never got to access it.


	3. Day 2-3:  Fodina Caestino - Eusciello

They're packed and checked out within fifteen minutes, terribly efficient for Ignis who is used to herding two not-morning-people and a sleeping beauty of a prince. He offers to take over driving for the day and Ravus eyes him. "Are you sure you know how to?"

Ignis gets it: most vehicles in Insomnia are automatic transmission, and more than one Insomnian-born diplomat who has never seen a clutch pedal in their life has had trouble in Niflheim. On the other hand, he has never in his life been questioned on his  _ driving. _ "Might be out of practice, but yes, I do. The Kingsglaive is still mostly Galahdian and I was designated driver on pub crawls a few times."

A couple false starts makes Ravus' frown deepen, but then muscle memory kicks in, and after the first kilometre or two go by without incident, Ravus even starts to relax.

Rounding a sharp bend in the road Ignis' foot slips from the clutch and the engine gives out. "Watch out," Ravus says, and reaches for the gear stick at the same time Ignis does, his hand closing over Ignis' own for a split second before jerking back like he's been burned.

"—Under control," Ignis says as he gets the engine back up and running, and wills his heart and the adrenaline rush to slow.

Crisis averted Ignis returns his attention to the radio, tuning to the frequency of a news channel he had gotten from the motel proprietor. The reception is bad, the broadcast interrupted by bursts of static, but Ignis can make out a report of the ongoing recovery efforts in Altissia.

_ ... seven days after the tsunami that struck Altissia's southern coast, the death toll has reached two hundred and sixteen, among them the Oracle and the King of Lucis. Many more are injured and missing.... _

Ignis glances across to the passenger seat. Ravus' arms are folded across his chest, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. If he has any reaction to the news, Ignis cannot discern it. 

—Ignis knows that Noctis is still alive. That knowledge sits like a flickering warmth in his chest; it keeps his eyes open and his feet moving.

He glances across to the passenger seat. If Ravus has any reaction to the news, Ignis cannot discern it. To be quite honest, Ignis does not know why Ravus is here or why he has agreed to help. To escape his Imperial pursuers? Revenge on the Chancellor? Or has he had a change of heart where Noctis is concerned?

Ravus' arms are folded across his chest, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. Impossible to tell what he is thinking. 

  
  
  


Evening, they stop for food at a Crow's Nest.

Ignis looks down at his plate of soggy fries and mystery meat, mirrored neatly on Ravus' side of the booth. "For two countries who have been at war for centuries, Lucis and Niflheim have a lot in common," Ignis observes. "Language, currency, wide expanses of tundra… and the grease-soaked offerings of questionable diner chains." 

"There are no Crow's Nests in Tenebrae," Ravus says. "Thankfully."

"... Yet."

Ravus' face is priceless. 

Ignis makes himself swallow another bite.

At the gas station the convenience store clerk peers at Ignis' phone, pulls open the back and compares a number of phone cards, then says, "Can't help you. Haven't stocked that model in years now."

"The phone's nearly new," he says.

"Or it was in Lucis," Ravus says. It takes Ignis a second to parse that Niflheim really is years ahead of them where technology is concerned.

At least his charging cable is still compatible with the car's port. Ignis plugs the device in, then glances at the dashboard clock: 5:47pm. Outside, the horizon over the gas station is dark red. "It's far too early for sunset."

"Without the Oracle, the Starscourge spreads unchecked," Ravus replies with grim certainty. The setting sun throws shadows over his face, his profile sharp against the red twilight. "We are all lost without her. Some more than others."

_ ... the five affected districts in West Gralea have been placed under a yellow alert. Mayor Arcada states that the outbreak is contained and there is no cause for concern.This has been GBC Newshour... _

  
  


Night over Niflheim is long and empty.

In Lucis, they had only traveled after nightfall when Noct insisted. During those nights, Noct would take the wheel, and without exception Ignis would ride shotgun fully intending to keep vigil until the dawn. 

_ "Noctis, one bad accident is all it takes. If we encounter a red giant..." _

_ Noct had frowned then, weighing Ignis' cautious sensibilities against his own priorities. "Then let me drive. We can take those chances, Iggy." _

Also without exception, Ignis would then fall asleep in the passenger seat shortly after.

Now Ravus' eyes are fixed on the road, intent and serene. One of his hands lies lightly on the wheel keeping it steady, the other elbow resting on the doorframe. Ignis pulls his gaze away and stares out at the darkening night, fully intending to stay awake, and doesn't even realize when he falls asleep.

  
  


He wakes to the faint jerks and bumps of a car travelling at high speed over an uneven road. Opens his eyes and fumbles for his glasses, and realizes he's stretched out in the car's back seat. Sometime in the night Ravus must have pulled over and moved him, and he wonders with some consternation how he hadn't even woken. The radio is still tuned to the capital city's local broadcast.

_ ... temperatures negative fifteen in Vagliupe, single digits in Eusciello, and in the low 20s over Succarpe and Tenebrae. Chance of showers to the north and west as storms roll in from the Cygillan Sea. This weather report brought to you by GBC News Service, live from Fodina Caestino… _

8:13 a.m by the digital display. The GPS's traveling dot has drawn close to the border of Eusciello. Outside, the first fragments of daylight lie behind the foliage, and the trees draw long thin shadows over the road. Beyond them, just out of sight, must be the calm expanse of the Sathersea. 

Ignis reaches for his phone in the drink slot between the front seats and pulls up the camera app.

When he and Noct return to Lucis, it won't do not to have stories to tell.

His movement or the ersatz click of the virtual camera shutter seems to rouse Ravus from his concentration, and he glances up at the rearview mirror in Ignis' direction. "What was that?"

"Taking a picture," Ignis says, belatedly noticing his voice is still thick with sleep. "This continent is beautiful, isn't it?"

He expects Ravus to scoff at the frivolity, or patently ignore the gesture. Instead, in the rearview mirror, an unreadable expression crosses his face. The sharp light of dawn throws his face into sharp relief as he turns back to the road and says, "Yes, it is."

  
  


Past the border to Eusciello the view outside changes to snow and ice, too abrupt to be a natural phenomenon.

They get out to switch the car's tires out for winter ones. Ravus reaches into the back of the vehicle for a coat and hat, and hands a pair to Ignis too. The wind chill hits Ignis' face and he draws his coat a little tighter. Lucis' winters had been short and mild. In Ignis' faint memories, so had Tenebrae's.

He asks Ravus about it. "Eight years ago, the empire felled the Glacian near Ghorovas Rift," Ravus explains. "That winter was an especially bitter one, and come the spring, the snow over half the continent didn't melt. It never has." A pause. "Tenebrae is further north and escaped the worst."

Back in the car Ignis reaches for the radio dial, and stops on a channel playing a book review about a man who made a fortune counting cards up in Pagla.

  
  


The turn leading west to the Ghorovas is cordoned off by a set of snow-covered gates, a faded sign reading ROADS CLOSED DUE TO SEVERE WEATHER affixed to the metal mesh. Beyond the gates the road, dusted with snow, winds around and between the hills and out of sight.

Ignis curses softly. Ravus had said this road is the only direct route through the Ghorovas and to go around the mountain range will lengthen the trip considerably. "What are our options?"

Ravus is looking up at the snow-capped peaks, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, eyes narrowed against the biting wind that sends his hair streaming away from his face. "We can turn back to Cartanica, and catch the train bound for Gralea," he says. "And lose another four days. Or we can go north, through Tenebrae."

The wind bites at Ignis' face. He pulls his scarf up over his nose and wonders how Ravus can be so unbothered. "Then Tenebrae it is." Back in the car, Ravus inputs Ulwaat into the dashboard display and the GPS obligingly reroutes.

_ ... has been declared an epidemic. Four districts have been placed under level three quarantine and ten more are on yellow alert, and travel to and from West Gralea is now restricted. Mayor Arcada advises travellers bound for West Gralea to change their plans. This has been GBC Newshour... _

  
  
  


They roll into the rest stop two hours before sundown.

Outside the dirty caravan window, the snow is a pale white sea. Ignis checks over his daggers and finds them nearly drained of their enchantments; he looks in the Armiger for refills but finds the the last of Noctis' magic flasks sitting empty. "Pity," Ignis says aloud, turning the blades over.

"Hm?" Ravus asks from the other side of the room.

"These are spelldaggers. Without enchantments they are not nearly half as effective."

Ravus holds out a hand and Ignis passes him one of the blades, handle first. Ravus weighs it in his hand and turns it over, and a spark of electricity runs down the blade from handle to tip. "I studied elemancy briefly as a child," Ravus says. "And there are ice deposits here."

Five minutes away is a river, long frozen over. Ignis sets out a flask and pulls out an assortment of objects from the Armiger, from building stones to fishing lures. "Healcast, failcast—"

"—let's avoid that one—"

"—expericast, then? Ah, I know just the thing..."

Ravus stares doubtfully at the cup noodles Ignis holds out and Ignis says, "Trust me."

He picks up a flask and holds a hand over the glowing veins of the ice deposit, drawing out the raw elemental energy. He does not do it with Noctis' ease but after a fashion he hands the flask back to Ignis, three-quarters full of swirling crystalline blue.

Ignis takes the flask, applies the trapped energy carefully to his daggers until they glisten with the same crystalline sheen. "I noticed you don't use spells in combat," he asks carefully. "Is there a reason?"

"Never any good at it. Besides, no need for magic once I could hold a sword."

"Why not both?" Ignis asks, thinking of Noctis.

Ravus hesitates. "To be honest, I don't think it occurred to me."

The flask is still two-thirds full of ice energy and Ignis holds it out. "Give it another go? As a backup plan, should we—"

A giant ice pillar crashes out of the sky. Ignis gasps and throws himself bodily backwards, the ice block crashing into the spot where he had been moments before. "Not bad," he manages, winded by the hard landing. He gets to his feet and dusts off the snow. "Though a little warning next time..."

Ravus is doubtful. "I think I should stick to lightning."

"No, really, that was not bad. It was strong. With a little practice to improve your aim..."

Ignis picks up a handful of snow from the ground, grateful that his gloves keep out the worst of the chill, and demonstrates. "Throw curved, throw wide, and it makes an area of effect."

Three fingers around the belly of the flask. Draw back and toss, the way he'd shown Noct by the fountain in the Citadel courtyard all those years ago.

Ravus follows the trajectory of the snowball as it arcs wide and shatters on the ground. He follows suit. In the distance, almost exactly where the snowball had landed, a circle of ice crystals bursts out over the snow. 

Within the hour Ravus has gone through fifteen flasks of ice elemancy and the same number of debased coin catalysts. If Ignis wasn't already lying spread-eagled in the snow, he'd have exercised his resource management sensibilities. But dodging stray spells has utterly exhausted him.

"Not bad," Ignis repeats, looking up at the pillars and arches of solid ice now framing the sky above him. In some corners of Insomnia it might have been considered art.

Ravus is sitting next to him, legs stretched out over the ice; his breath mists in the air and his face flushed from exertion beneath the dark knit cap. He seems in a good mood for the first time in a while—the first time Ignis has ever seen him in a good mood, in fact.

Ignis wonders if it snows in Tenebrae during the winter, and if Ravus and Luna ever made snowmen.

He adds that to the growing list of things he wants to ask Ravus, eventually.

When the first ice pillar crashed into the lake's frozen surface, the impact had broken through the ice to the flowing water beneath. Now a fish leaps from a hole in the ice, sending a small splash over the frozen surface. "Brown trout," Ignis observes thoughtfully, "if the Lucian kind is anything to go by."

Sundown is still an hour away. "Come on," Ignis says, knocking Ravus' shoulder and jumping to his feet with a burst of renewed energy. He reaches into the Armiger for a rather different set of equipment. "Let's see if you can beat the Lucian King's fishing record."

  
  


Ravus offers to help with dinner, and he takes direction well. He retrieves, cleans and lays out the necessary utensils efficiently and doesn't get in the way. Unlike certain other companions Ignis has had. 

Ignis asks him to watch the stove where two trout are cooking in a bed of herbs, and Ravus doesn't move for the next seven minutes until Ignis comments that the pan must be getting shy. Ravus has the grace to crack a smile at that. "Once I looked away too long and the kitchen caught fire. No lasting harm but I paid attention after that."

It's the first piece of personal information Ravus has willingly volunteered and that makes triumph rise in Ignis' chest. He doesn't think Ravus learned that while running about an average military mess hall. "This was back in Tenebrae?" 

Immediately he regrets bringing it up, but Ravus doesn't seem to mind and is clearly still paying more attention to the fish in the pan, anyway. "Mm. Luna and I used to help in the kitchen. Just the baked goods though."

Ignis is definitely paying attention now. "... Do you remember what went into them?"

Ravus seems to think about it. "Berries from the garden. Sometimes sweet potatoes from Lucis."

_ That's it, _ Ignis thinks. Ulwaat berries, famously only ever found growing in Tenebrae. That's the missing ingredient from Noct's beloved pastry. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cup noodles make healcast, thanks Gladio for your food choices


	4. Day 4-5: Eusciello - Pagla

Sunrise is late, and it's close to ten when Ignis pulls the car back onto the road. The sky is clear and vivid blue over the snow, but dark clouds mass to the northwest where Pagla lies.

At a gas stop, Ignis finds some leftover ham in the Armiger and they eat sandwiches on the side of the road as the occasional vehicle passes by.

A hawk lands heavily on a tree branch high above them, shaking loose an entire pile of snow. Ignis had been standing to the side, but Ravus gets the brunt of it and he yelps and jumps back, shaking loose snow like a dog would shake off water.

One long-ago Insomnian winter, Noct had received a similar dusting from an overhead parapet. He'd only been rescued from the last cold lumps of snow with Ignis' help.  Surely, that's the reason why Ignis is reaching out to Ravus' shoulder.

Ravus turns with a quizzical look. Ignis, caught in the act, lets the snow he's picked up fall from between his fingers. "Missed a bit," he says. 

At the northern edge of Eusciello they get out of the car again, undo the chains on the wheels, and switch the tires back out for regular ones. There had been a day like this one in Lucis, just as bright and twice as warm; Noctis had insisted that changing a tire is not a necessary part of a prince's knowledge arsenal, and Gladio had vehemently disagreed. Prompto, off to the side, was already calling Cindy.

Ignis wonders where they are now.

Whether Gladio and Prompto are all right, whether they're traveling together, or if they've already found out where Noct is and are heading for Gralea too.

"What's the matter?" Ravus asked.

"... just remembering something," Ignis replies. "I was wondering. How did you learn to change a flat?"

"From the Chancellor," Ravus replies. At Ignis' raised eyebrow he continues, "He blew one out taking a turn, then took my car and left me to fix his. With detailed instructions, but still."

Ignis makes a noise of sympathy. Task done, they dust off their hands and Ravus offers to take over driving.

…  _ the epidemic continues spreading through the imperial capital, which is now under total quarantine. Gralean officials remain silent on the cause of the epidemic or the measures taken to contain it. Meanwhile, another power outage has struck the Magitek Research Facilities in south Ghorovas. The cause of the failures remains unknown. This broadcast is live from our Tenebraean correspondent, Cal Kolter… _

  
  
  
  


Ignis also finally finds a use for the strange orange tomatoes on the dashboard.

He had cut one open earlier preparing to use it in a steamed whitefish dish, but on seeing the paleness of the flesh and the abundance of pulp he had switched to a different recipe entirely.

Ravus takes this second meal better than the first, Ignis observes with some gratification: he seems to actually be enjoying it this time around. Maybe it's the tomatoes. Unlike a certain other prince Ignis knows, Ravus seems perfectly at home with vegetables.

"Where did you learn to make this?" Ravus asks, face half-hidden behind the bowl. "I have only ever had it in Tenebrae."

"Old family recipe," Ignis replies. His uncle had made it only rarely, saying it's not the same with ingredients from Insomnia.

Ravus holds the steaming bowl to his face, breathing in. For the first time his eyes are alight with something Ignis cannot place. "The housekeeper used to make it for me and Luna when we got sick, but Luna disliked it because it wasn't sweet."

"Add lettuce," Ignis suggests.

"You're twelve years too late," Ravus replies. 

All Ignis knows of Tenebrae he learned in the Citadel, or heard from Noctis on the rare occasions the prince mentioned his time there. So it's strange to learn now that these parts of his life, which he has never thought about, also had their origins there.

He and Ravus travel together only out of necessity, but somewhere between radio frequencies and Tenebraean tomatoes the space between them is no longer taut with hostility.

Is Ravus Nox Fleuret a friend?

Ignis takes the empty bowl from the table. It is still warm, from the soup or from Ravus' hands.

  
  
  


Tenebrae's southern border is always plagued by rain.

At least, Ravus says it is, but right now the storm is sheeting down so hard they can hardly see two metres ahead. After struggling along several kilometres, they are forced to pull off to the side of the road to wait out the storm.

Silence in the car except for the sound of rain. The radio is silent; either it's not broadcasting or they're now too far north to receive the broadcast from Niflheim. Ignis wonders out loud how the road even got built in the first place. "How does a construction crew work if it's always raining?"

"Some of these roads are as old as Solheim," Ravus replies. "Just as Niflheim angered the Glacian, perhaps Tenebrae once got on Ramuh's bad side."

Ignis can't hold back a snort of laughter. Thinks it must be snowing in Duscae now that Ravus Nox Fleuret has cracked a joke.

"It's not that bad," Ravus continues. "It lets up after a couple hours."

"Couple hours it is," Ignis says, shivering slightly as he pulls his jacket closer. Ravus, in the passenger seat, looks completely unperturbed, leaned back in the seat with long legs crossed and arms folded as he stares out through the windshield with a frown.

Another dozen minutes pass in steep silence. Then they hear, interspersed with the distant rumbles of thunder, an unpleasantly familiar  _ thud thud thud _ outside the car.

Ignis' eyes shoot open from his half-doze.

Outlined through the rain are two hulking silhouettes, the screech and crash of the iron giants' metallic limbs audible even over the storm. "Terrible timing," Ignis says.

Ravus watches them warily through the rearview mirror. "You don't say."

In a storm, the sun is obscured. Just the way it is at night. Just the way daemons thrive.

When Gladio, Noct and Prompto are all there, they can barely handle two iron giants. Alone, Ignis has no hope. But Ravus is there too, and that will have to be enough.

Thunder rumbles through the deafening rain. Ignis grabs his daggers from the Armiger, throws open the door and makes a dash for it.

Alba Leonis makes a silver arc at Ravus' side. It's too dark to see. The iron giant swings and Ignis dodges in what he hopes is the right direction, then parries.

Ignis brings up his lance to parry again. It whistles past the descending claw, which sinks into Ignis' forearm and rakes straight across. The giant's other metal arm swings back around and crashes into Ignis' side.

He feels his shoulder shatter as he hits the ground.

His vision goes black, and the lancing pain all through his left side threatens to drag him under. He draws a painful breath, then another, faintly aware of Ravus yelling his name and another sharp arrow of pain through his shoulder as he's picked up off the ground.

A sharp creak as the iron giant turns again. Ravus calls out, panicked. "Stay right there!"

Ignis feels his back make contact with the ground again, gentler this time. The sharp silver flash of Ravus' sword through the rain. Now he can see it; now Ravus is close. "Stormsender," he intones, "if you are out there, I beseech you, lend us your aid..."

In the sky a great white ball rolls, gathering light. A clap of thunder shakes the ground, Ignis with it. Overhead the sky flashes to blinding white, shot through with violet. Static electricity crackles through suddenly burning-hot air. He can smell ozone.

Then the silhouettes of the iron giants are gone, and Ignis hears the hiss of vanishing miasma through the thundering rain.

It's over.

The rain fogs his glasses and plasters his hair and clothes to his skin. Bone-deep pain like fire darts through his left arm; he shifts painfully and sees that his jacket sleeve is torn, his arm gashed straight down the side, a mess of exposed flesh trickling blood beneath the fabric. Flecks of purple miasma hiss acidly in the wound, but they quickly vanish, washed out by the rain or burned away.

Above him, Ravus' silhouette is dark and sharp against the lightning, expression aghast.

Then the rain has stopped falling over his face and he's staring up at the car's interior light, a patch of white in incongruous grey. The clatter of rain is distant now. Ravus is pulling a clean shirt from one of the duffels. He rips it apart, binds the wound, and Ignis hisses in pain as it draws tight.

"I apologize," Ignis manages.

"What for?"

"You said... not to get in your way."

Ravus frowns. "Well, yes, don't do it again."

With shaking hands, Ignis feels through the Armiger for a potion, comes up with a half-used bottle and manages to tip a little of the glowing liquid onto his chest. The warmth spreads and gathers at his injured shoulder instantaneously.

Ravus promptly takes the bottle from Ignis' hands and empties it completely. "If you're this stingy with your curatives all the time it's a wonder your prince is still alive." he says acidly, frowning.

Ignis opens his mouth to retort, but as he shifts pain blindsides him again.

Sparks of magic dance over the wound, then sink in. The familiar numbing warmth spreads over Ignis' side as Noct's healing magic permeates muscle tissue and shattered bone. Magic tugs at the edges of the wound, knitting flesh and skin back together. Outside, a rumble of thunder through the still-pouring rain. "Thank you," Ignis manages, not sure if Ravus can even hear him over the storm.

"Don't get used to it."

This close, Ignis sees that Ravus' eyes are flecked with violet amidst the gray; almost luminescent, the way Noct's had the day he received the Stormsender's blessing. Had that lightning strike been the Fulgarian's intercession? Or Ravus' own command of the elements?

Ignis narrows his eyes, trying to focus his vision better, but can't.

  
  
  
  


Ignis cannot move without pain, so he pretends to be asleep.

He feels rather than sees the sodden mass of his ruined jacket leave his skin, replaced with dry, cool fabric. His pulse jumps under Ravus' fingers flush against his throat, his skin burns where Ravus' fingers trace over his forehead and down the side of his face, and when Ravus pulls away it leaves him cold.

"... try not to die like that. The Astrals don't need another sacrifice."

Beyond Ravus' presence the clatter of rain is beginning to fade. Perhaps the storm is finally breaking, just as promised.

Ravus is still whispering something.  _ O blessed stars of light and life. _ The words are Old Tenebraean and the remainder elude Ignis' grasp, but he recalls the sound and the rhythm: this is a prayer of gratitude, and of supplication.

Two millennia ago, the Astrals vanished from the world. Now House Fleuret, blood of the Oracle, is the last bastion of faith on Eos that remains to them.

The words are soothing and musical in Ravus' low voice and Ignis tries to keep listening, but he can't.

  
  


"So the prodigal son returns. The Fulgarian would be glad," Ignis observes the next morning. He has finally found out what Ravus dressed him in yesterday evening: one of Prompto's hoodies, the yellow chocobo on the back faded from washing. It had been oversize for Prompto, and fits Ignis snugly.

"Hardly," Ravus retorts, clearly miffed at having been overheard. "House Fleuret no longer has need of gods. Besides, isn't his favour all Noctis' now?"

"Need the Astrals only shed their grace upon one?"

"They shed no grace when Fenestala fell," Ravus replies.

Ignis stills, unsure if he's crossed a line. "Divine intervention or otherwise, thank you, Ravus. If you would entreat a god you don't believe in on my behalf, then surely you must think my life worth something."

"Don't think too highly of yourself, Ignis," is Ravus' rejoinder, but his lips twitch up in the hint of a smile.

  
  
  
  


_ … next on the news: the third of the Magitek Production Facility in southern Ghorovas has suffered a massive reactor overload. The epidemic in West Gralea, on which imperial authorities remain completely silent, have been confirmed to originate from a biocontainment breach from Gralea's own First Magitek Research Facility. This broadcast live from our Tenebraean correspondent, Cal Kolter... _

"Magitek," Ignis warns. He's more than familiar with the overhead shadow and whirring in the air that precedes them. Truth be told, he's surprised it took the Imperial army this long to find them.

They both leap from the car and Ignis summons his daggers to hand with a crystalline clink. At his side Ravus rests one hand on his sword, ready to draw at a moment's notice.

The airship all but falls out of the air and crashes in a smoking heap on the ground several dozen metres away. MTs emerge from the wreckage in a horde, forming a line which is most definitely not a battle formation. Beneath the helmets their eye sockets glow a pale shade of violet, very different from the fire-alarm red Ignis is accustomed to.

Ravus seems to have also noticed something amiss, and he lowers his sword first. "Stand down," he commands, and the MTs actually obey, retreating to a square formation and powering down.

He strides over to the platoon with the regal bearing of the military commander he had been. He inspects the front line, then gives the Magitek Bannerman a set of coordinates -- Ignis does a series of mental calculations; that's somewhere over the Cygillan Sea. The platoon promptly turns and starts moving in the direction of the coast.

"Will they really just walk into the sea?" Ignis asks.

"Probably. I'm not about to stick around and find out." Ravus slides open a small panel on his left wrist. Inside the compartment, an LED flashes green. "My command override hasn't been reverted."

"That's negligent," says Ignis.

"Too negligent," Ravus agrees, frowning. "Something must be going on down in the capital."

They inspect the smoking airship but nothing is salvageable from the wreckage. Back in the car, Ignis turns up the radio again, flipping channels in search of news from Gralea, but the frequency receives only static.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * ["always raining in Tenebrae"](https://youtu.be/Dms58hFsz74?t=3392)
>   * [on House Fleuret's connection to lightning](https://tenebraetrash17.tumblr.com/post/173441121321/ravus-nox-fleuret-last-rites-an-observation)


	5. Day 6-7: Pagla-Ulwaat

Above the distant heart of Ulwaat, the night is edged with a faint glow of red. As they draw closer to Fenestala, the unmistakable plumes of a raging fire rise into the air. Ignis sees Ravus tense, his hands clenched in fists at his side.

The forests bordering Fenestala, painstakingly regrown after the conflagration twelve years ago, are ablaze. In the distance itself, the manor still stands, not burning, but more than half in ruins. The lights are on, and there is heavy movement through the grounds. 

"Astrals," Ravus says quietly. "Even if Tenebrae has been absent from your houses of worship these long years... if someone had to pay the price, then let it be me. There was no need to have done this."

Ignis stops the car some distance away and rifles through the luggage for a hoodie to hide his face better. He finds one of Prompto's, the yellow chocobo on the back, the one he woke up in a few days ago. He tosses one of Gladio's over to Ravus and then motions to Ravus to follow, quietly.

A large military marquee has been erected in front of the manor grounds. Various other tents are scattered, but they are occupied by civilians, not the military. Families with children and the elderly, Niflheim and Tenebraean alike, sleeping or tending wounds or staring out into space with blank eyes. If they recognize their former prince, they give no sign.

Ignis also spots a pair of Niff airships parked on the ground some way away. "Ravus," he hisses, angles his chin in that direction. "Better not stay."

A young voice comes from the side. "... Aranea, Aranea, it's them. You said to say if there were people we didn't recognize."

A girl of about ten emerges from the foliage, dress dirt-stained and short hair falling around her face, followed by none other than Aranea Highwind whose hand is clasped tightly in hers. "Scientia," Aranea says, then glances at Ravus. "Fleuret. Didn't think you were still kicking."

"Highwind," Ravus greets her. "What the hell happened here?"

"The emperor is dead, the magitek facility blew up, and Gralea is overrun with daemons," Aranea summarizes briskly. "With the daylight like this, we can't fight them. Evacuations started two days ago by the Magna Fortia and we've been using Fenestala as a halfway house on the way to Succarpe." After a pause, she adds, "Would've asked first, Fleuret, but you were off the grid and we were a little preoccupied."

The girl is staring at them with wide eyes and Ignis wonders why the Commodore would be in the company of a child. He's about to ask, but Ravus looks into the sky at the gathering clouds and says, "This was the Emperor's doing?"

"Nah. Ardyn fucking Izunia."

"The Chancellor?" Ignis asks with incredulity. "He did this?"

"Turned all the MTs loose, then sicced the Diamond Weapon first on Gralea and then on this place. You can see for yourself what happened. It's dealt with now, but only just..."

The airships Ignis had spotted earlier have both gone dark, power supplies blown out in the battle with the Diamond Weapon. Now they serve only as supply stores and additional shelter as well as a base for the stragglers of Niflheim's human military to regroup. Men with radios and clipboards run in all directions moving boxes and giving instructions.

Aranea offers bottled water out of a dusty carton. "So what's your deal? Why aren't you running like hell in the other direction?"

"Scientia here is looking for the King of Lucis," Ravus replies.

"Ah," Aranea replies. "The pretty boy. The one who's supposed to save the world, isn't he." Ignis says nothing. "You think he's really gonna do it?"

"He will," Ignis replies with conviction.

Aranea levels him with an assessing stare. She must find this answer satisfactory because she says, "Zegnautus Keep. That's the only part of Gralea still intact, and that's where the bastard Izunia was keeping the Crystal. If you're sure your pretty-boy prince is still alive, that's your best bet." Then, "Godspeed, Scientia, and I damn well hope you make it."

Ignis glances at Ravus, who's eyeing a carton to the side with a familiar intensity. Aranea says, "I'd charge for it but since you were so kind as to lend us this place, go ahead."

It's a carton of Ebony, one of several among the comestibles salvaged from Gralean storehouses. Black gold, it's sometimes called: the vice of choice for overworked office workers, desperate university students, and many Citadel staff including Ignis himself. The canned coffee is produced in Niflheim but is popular throughout Lucis and Accordo, so contentious that it's caused more than one fight between the councillors of economy and the councillors of war.

"I'm surprised," Ignis says, once they are out of earshot. Ravus pulls a can from the ten-pack and tosses it; Ignis catches. "In Lucis, it's a diplomat's vice more than the military's."

"Better than smoking," Ravus replies, cracking open a can and draining it with relish. Ignis, exhausted, can sympathize. "Needed to keep up with the magitek and I did what I had to."

Ignis remembers that first day on the road, how Ravus had seemed to be completely all right with the prospect of driving all night through daemon country. 'What I had to' seems to cover many things where this man is concerned. "Ten gil a pop is steep," decides Ignis, "but it's worth it."

"Did you say ten?"

"Yes, that's the sticker price in Lucis. Why?"

"I believe I have been—what is the term— _ ripped off," _ Ravus says, indignance genuine this time. 

Ignis has to hold back a smile. "You can take it up with your dealer once we get to Gralea."

  
  
  


Summer in Tenebrae, the sylleblossom gardens lie in ashes.

The footpath through the garden is still lined with stones, but the trees on either side of the footpath are dead, branches dark with soot and completely bare. The flower fields, once vibrant blue and violet, are colorless beneath the pale sunlight, bone-dry and covered with a fine layer of ash. Ravus reaches out to touch one of the trees, and the twig breaks off in his hand. He lets it fall, and his fingers come away coated in gray ash. It drifts to the ground like snow.

"So Tenebrae ends," he says quietly. "These trees grew the berries you asked about before. I regret that I could not show them to you."

Overhead, the stormclouds move inland from Pagla, and a rumble of thunder heralds the oncoming rain.

  
  
  


The sprawling manor grounds are overrun with travelers and refugees, but the people have left the house itself alone. Perhaps out of respect for the former House Fleuret, or perhaps because hardly any of the structure seems intact enough to use for shelter.

The rain starts pouring just as they make it to the front doors.

Rain trickles from the leaking roof and pools on the floor, staining the carpets dark. These halls must have once been brightly lit and furnished; now they are only piles of ruined rubble. The ceiling to the kitchen has caved in, but the trapdoor to the cellar has survived. The Commodore's 86th Airborne Unit have already helped themselves to the emergency supplies within.

The stairs to the second floor are piled with rubble and half broken away. Ignis follows Ravus closely up the narrow remains of the steps, which lead to a narrow carpeted corridor. The left wall has crumbled, and the rain thundering down outside now drowns out all other sound.

Ravus pauses by an ajar door, then pushes it fully open. He sets a careful foot in, then another, and Ignis follows. Structurally sound. It's a music room: a grand piano sits in a corner and a ledge built into the wall supports a variety of musical instruments, gathering dust in the dark space.

The air here is stale and dry but some of the rain spray has blown in through the open door. Ignis tugs his jacket closer against the chill. Ravus, as always, seems totally unaffected. But over the last days Ignis has learned to read his silences, and he is thinking something now he would prefer to leave unsaid. Ignis gives him that space; he will talk when he is ready. The memories within this place must be hard to bear.

Ignis crosses over to the shelf, picks up the violin and runs a hand lightly over the body to clear the dust. Willow, perhaps, stained a beautiful dark mahogany and polished to a shine beneath the dust. "This was... yours?"

"Lunafreya's. Mother made us take lessons but neither of us were any good at it. ... You play, don't you?"

Ignis stops in the midst of tightening the bow and says, "How did you know?"

"The way you're holding it. Go on, then," Ravus says.

Ignis tunes the violin, eyes lowered to the strings to hide his surprise; he had not realized that Ravus watches him so closely. Then he looks up, fits the instrument in place beneath his chin, and draws the dualhorn-hair bow across the strings. He plays a lullaby from his own hardly-remembered childhood, a tune he had sung to Noctis on many a sleepless night.

To his slight surprise Ravus begins first to hum along, then to mouth the words. It's in Old Tenebraean and Ignis has not studied the dead language enough to know what the words mean, but he has always found it beautiful.

A rest, then Ignis draws the last phrase from the strings, the ending note sharp and melancholy through the ambient rain. 

"—I would like to be alone," Ravus says abruptly and exits the room, leaving Ignis alone with the sudden silence of the towering room.

Stricken, Ignis stands there for a minute. Then he goes to the doorway where the rain thunders down, close enough that Ravus will know he is there, but not close enough to intrude.

Ravus stands with his back to the doorway, head tilted back to rest against the rough stone, and the weak light filtering from the room stretches his shadow down the corridor. His eyes are dry, but completely blank.

The rain spray soaks Ignis' hair and clothes, and several more minutes pass to the sound of the ambient storm before Ravus turns to him, voice rough with emotion. "Do you remember anything? About the way Tenebrae used to be?" 

"I left too young to know," Ignis replies. Too young to remember enough of Tenebrae to miss it, which he is only now beginning to regret.

When Ignis thinks of Tenebrae the first image that comes to mind is of Noctis, eight years old, cradled in Regis' arms as they flee the magitek army. Now he patches Ravus, Lunafreya and Sylva Via Fleuret into that image too: they are the ones who did not escape in time. The ones Lucis left behind.

For twelve years Tenebrae has endured the Empire's iron rule, the Oracle chained by her calling to the remains of the place she had once called home. Now the storm clouds move in from the north, torrential rain extinguishing the flames sweeping Ulwaat's forests one final time. This time, Tenebrae falls forever. With the princess dead and her brother exiled, there is no one left to build it up again.

"... I didn't think so," Ravus says bitterly. "Just like before. The rest of Eos will not remember, much less mourn. The people will cry out for help, but who is there to hear?"

"Ravus—"

"In Lucis, even now, people are mourning their king. Where were their tears when Tenebrae fell? Why should they get to grieve, when people like us have nothing?!"

His voice is lost to the sound of the storm, the echo of thunder and the crash of rain against the roof and windows and grounds. The cold rain spray blows in past the crumbled stone that had once been a wall, drenching them both.

Just like Altissia, Ignis thinks. Only the word now is not rage, but grief. Ignis knows, oh, he remembers Pryna's vision of the future and he knows. Loss is like an incandescent wick in his chest: it burns, and will never fully burn away.

He walks up to stand by Ravus' side and turns to face him, away from the rain spray. "This world is still here," Ignis says, far more evenly than he feels. "Out there, people are still living, and will continue on despite everything. That's the world Lady Lunafreya gave her life to protect, that Noctis will give his life to save. That's what this, that's what all this is—"

Abruptly Ignis cuts off, realizing what he just said. 

Ravus has stilled. "Noctis, he..."

"Noctis is going to die," Ignis repeats, voice already betraying him. He clenches his hands so hard his nails dig crescents into his palm, and now he focuses on the pain to center himself. "He will save the world, and then he is going to die."

He expects Ravus to ask how, or why, or how Ignis knows. Instead Ravus just says, "And you will let him?"

The question hangs in the air between them. Beyond the manor's broken walls the sky is a wide dark expanse, formless grey blending into the distant forest horizon. A rumble of thunder through the storm.

Over the past week and a half, over the long drives through the desert and ice and through the weakening days and lengthening nights, Ignis has turned this over and over in his head. Weighing pros, cons, duty, allegiance, and the responsibilities that lie heavy on the head that wears the crown. Weighing one man's life against the entire world.

"The decision is his to make, and his alone," Ignis replies with conviction, barely hearing himself over the rain. Then, softer, "But, Astrals. if I could, I would—if I could, gods above—"

—If it had been up to him. If it had been up to him, he would have picked Noct up off the Altar of the Tidemother that day and run. Found Gladio and Prompto on the way and taken a car or boat and run, far, far away, not caring why, or where they were going. Eos is vaster than any of them have ever dreamed of. Somewhere under this sky there must be a place no one knows them, where they can live out the rest of their lives without a care.

But this must always remain thought, never deed. Because Noctis is the King of Light, and Ignis' first duty is, and will always be, to him.

A white flash of lightning, then a low rumble of thunder. "I know," Ravus says, barely audible over the rain. "Believe me, I know."

_ There is still you, _ Ignis thinks.  _ Even if the world forgets Lady Lunafreya, even if they forget this place, you will not. You are the last of House Fleuret and you have to live, for their sake. _

He almost says the words, but looking at Ravus' face he gets the sense that something else is very wrong, and lapses into silence, leaving only the sound of the rain to wrap around them both instead.

The study is not leaking badly, and they find enough dry blankets in one of the other rooms to pass the night. They leave early the next morning during a break in the storm, in hopes of outrunning the worst of the rain before it returns again. The sky remains overcast, still. Impossible to tell if it's the rain clouds, or massing Starscourge.


	6. Day 8-9: Ulwaat-Ghorovas

Late evening at 4 p.m., Ignis emerges from the bathroom and finds the room empty.

For a second he thinks that Ravus has cut and run. After all, he was only here because Ignis had threatened him that afternoon in Altissia. Now that the Niflheim Empire has fallen, there is no more reason for him to stay.

But the car is still in the motel's lot where they had left it. Ravus is standing on the car's far side, the setting sun stretching his shadow long over the tarmac. He has his phone in hand. The device is playing a voice message, barely audible and overlaid with static.

_ ... the Ghorovas are terrible to travel. The roads are bad… no scenery, and it is bitterly cold. But we have finally reached Reshiel, where I am … another two days. The people here are very kind. They still treat the Scourge-sick well... _

Ignis recognizes the speaker: Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.

It does not seem right to intrude any further, and Ignis turns and leaves as quietly as he can.

  
  
  
  
  


The next day Ravus sways on his feet as he's reaching for the door, and Ignis catches him before he hits the floor. "You're burning up."

"An old problem," Ravus replies. "You drive. I just need a few hours' sleep and I'll be fine."

Will be fine. Ignis has heard that before. "Fine in a few hours doesn't mean fine now. We're staying."

"We will lose time," Ravus tries to protest.

"You won't be any use delirious or dead."

Ravus doesn't argue. Doesn't have an argument or is too exhausted to.

For the next several hours Ravus drifts in and out of fitful sleep. Ignis stays by his side, sponges his fevered skin with a cool damp cloth, and gives him water when he is lucid. 

Through the window, the pale sun makes a short passage through the sky. The parking lot outside is silent and empty; the motel is completely deserted aside from them, the owners long fled for safer places.

The fever breaks late afternoon. When Ravus next opens his eyes, they are focused and alert. "An old problem, just a mild inconvenience," he repeats as he gets to his feet and pulls on jacket and shoes. "We should leave while there still is daylight. ... Is something the matter?"

"I should be asking you that," says Ignis darkly.

"I'm fine."

"If a traveling companion is going to be taken ill without warning, I think I'm owed an explanation at least," Ignis replies, more sharply than he means.

Ravus regards him steadily for another few seconds, then returns to the room and sits down on the bed. He removes his jacket again and then strips off his shirt, right hand moving to cup the join of the magitek prosthetic to his shoulder.

Dark tendrils spider out from where the metal meets living flesh, across Ravus' chest, down his torso and up his neck, encroaching far further along his skin than they had in Altissia. 

It's not an infection, that much Ignis can tell; at least, not in the traditional sense of the word. In a soft, aghast hush, he asks, "Ravus, how long has this been going on?"

Ravus curses under his breath. "Since Insomnia," he admits.

"This is going to kill you."

"Eventually. So the Chancellor said."

" _ Eventually?  _ Ravus—" Ignis has to stop and process the fact. "Why on earth did you accept this?"

"Accept it...? It was given to me, like my station, like this sword. As if it were a mercy and a boon."

Ignis, stricken, says nothing.

"Twelve years I have been with Niflheim," Ravus continues, "Endured my home, my title, my family and my name taken from me, all to keep my sister safe, but in the end it was still for nothing. Now she is gone, too, and you see what has become of my homeland. This life—" he turns his left arm over, the movement drawing a bitten-back hiss of pain, and inspects the wrist plate. "This life is the last thing I have to lose, and quite frankly, I think it will be a relief."

"Ravus—"

"What do you want from me, Ignis? An apology for keeping this weakness from you and putting us both in danger? An apology for twelve years ago, when I failed to keep Tenebrae and your precious Noctis safe?"

_ It was not you who failed the world, but the world that failed you,  _ Ignis thinks with surprising vehemence. "That is not what I—"

"I knew the moment I set foot on this continent that it would be my grave. So you can save your pity for someone who deserves it."

He stands and leaves the room, the door snapping shut with a harsh finality behind him.

Through the window Ravus' profile is a sharp silhouette, silver hair and white jacket almost invisible against the snow, and abruptly, Ignis' chest clenches tight with grief.

_ ... Has it never occurred to you that you will be missed? _

Of course not.

A long time ago, Gladio had told Ignis: as protectors, their lives only matter as much as the thing they defend. Now that Lunafreya is gone, and Tenebrae is lost, there is no more reason for Ravus Nox Fleuret to continue to exist.

And yet, if there is truly nothing left in the world worth protecting...

_ ... then why did you agree to go with me that day, Ravus...? _

  
  


Ignis opens the door and is immediately met with a cold and bracing breeze. He circles around to the back of the building where Ravus is, and calls out to him. "I need to tell you something."

He chooses his next words carefully while he waits for Ravus to pay him full attention. "You don't have to follow me any longer," he begins. "I assisted you in Altissia, but since then you have repaid it many times over. You owe me nothing now."

Ravus is watching him, expression unreadable. The wind whistles past, sending his hair flying in his face, and he raises a hand to hold it away. "And what would you have me do then?"

"Whatever you want. Stay here in Tenebrae, or go with the evacuees to Lucis."

Ravus watches him steadily. "And what about you?"

"I'll be continuing on to Gralea." 

"Then I will go with you."

That, Ignis does not expect. "... Why?"

Ravus regards him steadily. "Tell me, Ignis. What would you do in order to keep Noctis safe?"

"Anything." Ignis doesn't hesitate.

"Then you know why," Ravus says softly. Then, with his usual solemnity, "Do you really need a reason to accept my help?"

No, Ignis thinks, it is just that somewhere along the way he has become concerned for this man's well-being. "All right," Ignis replies. "If that is what you wish."


	7. Day 10-11: Ghorovas Rift

10:32 a.m. by the car's display, the day breaks pale and weak over the horizon. Ignis turns the radio dial and finds only static.

Coming the other way is a sedan crammed full: two women including the driver, a man, and three children. The driver screeches to a halt, sticks her head out the window and yells, "What the hell are you going  _ that way _ for?!"

"Delivering a message to the Chancellor," Ignis calls back.

"Get in and get out quickly," the woman says. "Gralea is in chaos. Word's that Niflheim's no more."

"What is happening?"

"Crawling with daemons, most places. And what is Chancellor Ardyn doing throughout all of this...?" The woman continues with a few colorful words. "When you're done, go to Ulwaat in Tenebrae. There's a halfway house where the Fenestala Manor used to be. Lady Aranea is organizing the evacuation to Lucis from there." She mutters, "If you still value your life."

The icy expanse of the Ghorovas Rift stretches long before them and Ravus drags the snow chains from the trunk while Ignis fastens them to the wheels. To their left the pale dawn paints the mountain peaks in white, idyllic and pure, at complete odds with reality.

  
  


The Ghorovas are far colder than Eusciello had been. The heat in the car barely works, and even under a sturdy windbreaker and a fleece-lined coat Ignis shivers. Ravus has both hands on the wheel, one gloved, one metal. His face is set in grim determination, breath misting in front of his face, and if he's troubled he gives no sign.

To take his mind off things Ignis takes stock of supplies, food, fuel, ignition. They will have to travel two days - going by daylight, which is not a lot of time by this point - and part of the night to make it to Ueltham by sundown of the second day. He hopes there is still somewhere within the Empire fit to take shelter.

The snow-covered plains of the Ghorovas stretch out into the distance until they hit the mountain range, peaks of many heights endless in every direction, the way between them narrow and winding. Telegraph wires stretch between sparsely spaced posts, badly maintained; many have snapped or collapsed. Static crackles on the radio and Ignis turns it down low, just loud enough to catch the timed broadcasts, one every hour on the hour, entreating all remaining citizens of western Niflheim to make haste to Tenebrae.

"At least it's not snowing," Ignis says, looking out at the vast expanse of white.

"It rarely does," Ravus says. "The ground climate is the Glacian's doing. The precipitation is still mostly rain."

"What was this place like before?"

"Before the Glacian? Arid, still rather infertile. Niflheim had more reasons than ambition to want to expand its empire. But it was very warm. Not unlike Lucis."

A steady, horribly familiar  _ thud thud thud _ outside the car. Ravus puts the parking brake on, hand going to the space between the driver's seat back and the side of the car where his sword is stashed. "Daemons?"

"Afraid so," Ignis replies. Draws his daggers and peers through the window, sizing up the two iron giants outside, their silhouettes hulking against the snow-covered mountains. On the count of three they fling open the doors and dash out.

Ignis' daggers glance off the pale, armored front of the first giant. Beside him, Ravus' flurry of sword strikes barely dents the other. The giants can be worn down, Ignis knows, but they'll be here for hours at this rate.

Ravus brings his sword down. The blade goes through the giant's ankle joint and hits the foot plating. It leaves a dent but the recoil sends Ravus stumbling.

If Ignis doesn't think of something, this is the end for both of them, and Ignis thinks with surprising vehemence that he is not going to let Ravus die here today.

The ice giant's fist comes crashing down and Ignis parries with both daggers. Steel quivering an inch from his face Ignis sees that the ice from several days ago still lines the blades, sheening them with frost.

Ignis looks down at the blades. Spelldaggers, a pair Noct had bought off a street merchant in Altissia: imbue them with elemental energy and they're good to go.

The fire in them is nearly extinguished but perhaps Ignis can still…

"Ignis, what the hell do you think you're—"

Flames flare on the blade and run down the hilt. It flows through Ignis' hands, burning flesh right down to the bone, and explodes outwards toward the ice giant. A single bright circle flares in the night, lightning up the snow, and a terrible muted thud resounds as something breaks apart inside of the hulking block.

Ignis vaults, drives his lance straight through the back of the giant's neck and leaps off. Tucks and rolls to minimize the impact, still lands painfully.

The giant is a ball of smoke behind him and Ravus dives out of the sky to deal the finishing blow. The remains of the conflagration crackles through the air.

The giants have gone, but the fire has not. It rises within Ignis now, burning its way past organs and up through his ribcage like a bright white star that cares not what it devours. Ravus' voice, impossibly far away, calling out his name. The chill of healing magic drenches his hands, then fades. 

"... let's not... do that again," Ignis manages.

"Ignis, don't—"

He thinks Ravus catches him before he hits the ground. The words fade into ringing silence as the world goes white.

  
  
  


When Ignis comes to, Ravus is there, frowning as always. "What the hell," he says, "do you think you were doing?"

"You said fire, so—" Ignis makes an aborted motion with his hands. His mind is still too foggy to find the words. "Although I would like to know how on earth I am still alive."

"Found this in your curatives." Ravus hands Ignis a single red phoenix feather, faded from use. It sits weightless in his hand. "What would you have done if I hadn't been there?"

"Might not have done it at all," Ignis says truthfully. Then, because Ravus is looking at him funny, "I won't die so easily, you know. Haven't gotten Noctis back yet."

"That's your own funeral."

Ignis turns the feather over in his hand. "You're sure you didn't inherit the Oracle's power? Not even a bit?"

"If I had magic of my own do you think I'd have to resort to using his?"

"Still so callous. And here I thought you'd decided to  _ help _ Noctis."

"This is different. This is personal," Ravus retorts.

That gives Ignis pause. There's something there, he thinks, but right now the aftereffects of what Noctis calls 'returning from the dead' are still fogging his mind and making him woozy. He makes himself comfortable on the warmest available surface, which happens to be Ravus' lap. "I am going back to sleep." He can deal with everything, he thinks, after the phoenix down's effect wears off.

  
  


Ignis opens his eyes to late afternoon sun slanting through the car’s window and immediately asks, "How much time did we lose?"

"Sixteen hours," Ravus replies promptly, already getting to his feet. The chill outside rushes through the interior of the car again as he opens the door. "We should go. And warn me next time."

Ignis quickly shakes the last of the lethargy from his limbs and follows. He does not remember a lot, but he has not felt this rested in a long time.

Once they are back on the road Ravus says, "House Scientia. Rumored to be descended from the Infernian himself…" He takes his eyes off the road to glance at Ignis. "So it's true, then?"

That gives Ignis pause. "You knew my family?" he asks.

"Only in passing. Mother had rather hoped House Scientia's youngest son would be a friend to Luna and I, and was quite put out when she learned your uncle was moving the family to Lucis." A pause, then, "What's the matter?"

"Just thinking that, in that case, I was very nearly retainer to you and Lady Lunafreya instead of Noctis."

Ravus' lips quirk. "Would that be so bad?"

Ignis thinks of Noctis. Thinks he wouldn't trade where he is for the entire world. But even so... "No," he replies. "It wouldn't be."

  
  
  


In the very heart of the Ghorovas Rift lies the Glacian's corpse.

Her power holds full sway over the elements here, temperatures plummeting past a point down to subzero. The heating in the car barely works, and Ignis curls up in the passenger seat, tugging his sleeves down over his hands in a futile effort to keep them warm. Every breath is icy in his chest

Ravus, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected, gloved hands steady on the wheel as always. Likely he is just used to it. Occasionally he glances Ignis' way, assessing, and Ignis wonders if Ravus thinks him weak for it.

Instead, he stops the car, gets out, goes around to the back and rifles around in their bags. Comes up with his old military coat, patchy and salt-stained in places from Altissia but still intact, and hands it to Ignis.

The coat is far too big for Ignis, who ends up using it more as a blanket than a jacket. "Thank you," Ignis says. The heavy material is sturdy and very, very warm. Niflheim is many things, but they do not stinge on their military provisions in the least.

Later Ignis tries to return it but Ravus just says, "Keep it. Not like I'll need it."

  
  
  
  


The landscape outside has not changed for hours, pitch black night aside from the circle of snow ahead illuminated by the headlights. There is no way they will complete this leg of the trip tonight.

In the silence Ignis' voice is strange even to his own ears. "We'd best stop for tonight."

Ravus murmurs assent, and pulls off the road and to a stop beneath the next functioning streetlamp. It's not much protection from the daemons, but it kept the party safe enough in Lucis and they will just have to hope it will suffice now, too.

Frost gathers on the windshield and windows. Ignis climbs into the back seat, shoves their bags out of the way, and puts down the backs of the seats. Even with the additional room, the space is narrow, an uncomfortable fit for two grown men. Ignis supposes Ravus has seen worse; himself, he can make do with anything.

He digs out two more jackets from the duffel, curls up, and wraps his arms around himself in an effort to keep out the cold. He's still trying to remember what he hated so much about Insomnian summers when he feels Ravus shift in the space next to him.

"Come here," Ravus says. Ignis scooches closer until his side is flush with Ravus' chest, warmth permeating the several layers of fabric between them. Ravus wraps one warm and heavy arm over Ignis' shoulders, fingers brushing lightly through Ignis' hair.

Strange, how someone so cold can also be so gentle. Maybe he is remembering Lunafreya, Ignis thinks. All other things aside, Ravus had loved her deeply, and people take care of the things they love.

But it's only the efficiency of conserving body heat that makes Ravus do this now, Ignis knows, and is not sure why that seems more than a little regrettable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Sagefire technique 
>   * No canonical basis for House Scientia stuff, but Ignis has a number of connections to Ifrit and this is one of the theories as to why


	8. Day 12: Ueltham

The Ghorovas peaks give way to a gray landscape beneath the weak midday light.

The weathered sign out front says  _ Pelnar City Limits _ . The single road leading into town is lined on both sides with gas stations, motels and fast food chains. Cars are lined up neatly in parking spaces, the interiors of the stores lit, but there are no people and no movement. The silence and stillness of it all unnerves him: there used to be life here, and then now there simply  _ isn't _ .

Ignis slows to twenty kilometres an hour, taking in the surroundings. "Everyone evacuated?"

"Or dead," Ravus says, gesturing through the window to a number of bodies gathered beneath an overhang outside a store. Ignis remembers the series of increasingly distressing radio reports of the epidemic in Niflheim's capital.

A daemon lands on the roof of the car, climbing down towards the passenger window. Ravus rolls down the window, grabs the daemon around the neck and throws it under the car, where it vanishes in a wisp of violet smoke.

"They must be pouring into all the cities and towns," Ravus says. "Soon the continent will be overrun."

Ignis pulls into one of the parking lots. The signs outside advertise sales on fruit and fresh vegetables. In the next row over, the silhouette of a woman lies face-down on the tarmac next to a car, unmoving, a familiar discoloration over the areas of exposed skin.

Ignis stops the car and gets out to take a closer look, suddenly no longer wary. He recognizes this. "The biohazard from the First Magitek Production Facility..." murmurs Ignis, "is the Starscourge? They were studying it there?"

"It's a magitek production line, not a research laboratory," Ravus replies. "But I would not put it past Verstael Besithia to be…" He abruptly cuts himself off.

The side of Ignis' foot nudges the body and a limb detaches at the joint, eaten almost through by the infection. Ignis is caught by the stench of the thick sludge seeping from the ragged stump. The eyes roll in the woman's head, twisted neck and all, watching Ignis with an indiscernible expression, and horror roils through Ignis at the sight. "She's not dead."

"No," Ravus says, and draws his sword.

A flash of silver as Ravus strikes, then the entire body turns into a sickeningly familiar violet sludge. Ignis watches with growing horror as the puddle vanishes with a hiss.

There are several pieces to this puzzle.

The Starscourge: the microscopic plasmodium currently blanketing the world in darkness, and also the cause of a wasting sickness with a near-total mortality rate.   
The daemons: monsters of unknown origin that emerge only at night and fear the sun.

Now Ignis puts the information together, the new knowledge a sickening finality in his chest. He asks, "Did you know? That the Scourge-infected eventually turn into daemons?"

"Suspected," Ravus says, still staring at the spot on the ground where the body had been. "Luna sees many of these people and it was impossible not to notice the similarities. But we never observed the transformation in full." A pause. "To let it run its course would have been too cruel."

But Ignis has stopped listening, because there is one more thing.

A lifetime ago, Prompto had opened up a magitek armor once out of curiosity. He had been surprised to find it completely hollow, with no clear central computer, power source, or locomotion mechanism. Law of conservation of energy, Prompto had explained: no matter how good Niflheim's technology, the machine must run on  _ something _ . Now Ignis remembers that there had been odd wisps of purple mist in the grooves, diffusing into the air even as he examined it.

There had  _ been _ something inside, and that something had vanished after death on exposure to air.   
Ignis recalls again: the First Magitek Production Facility had been studying the Starscourge.

The simplest explanation is most likely the right one.

Which also means—

"Ignis." Ravus' voice is grave.

Ignis stops and turns slightly to show he's listening.

Ravus watches the hand of his magitek arm, lines of violet luminescence beneath the metallic covering. He flexes the fingers gently. "If I don't make it to Zegnautus Keep. If I become... one of those things. I want you to kill me."

Ignis' words fail him.

"Swear it, Scientia."

"Very well," Ignis says, more steadily than he feels. "If it comes to that, I will make sure it is ended swiftly." He is not quite sure he can keep that promise.

  
  
  
  


The entrance to the highway to Gralea is on the southwest side of town. Ravus weaves the car between the behemoth kings and the nagarani, and runs straight through the smaller daemon packs that get in the way.

A gas station in relatively good condition stands at the entrance to the highway. Ravus kills the engine and fills the tank, and they head into the convenience store to take shelter for the night. It's quick work to clear out the two daemons inside and barricade the door with several stocked shelves. Ignis flicks the switches in the storeroom, flooding the store with bright white light.

Just past one in the afternoon, dusk is already rapidly falling, and a little after two the sky has gone fully dark. 

The hot drinks machine is still running. Ignis looks through the food on the shelves then reaches into the Armiger for Gladio's supply of cup noodles, and gives Ravus the pick of egg or shrimp.

Outside in the deepening night the daemons are massing in far greater numbers than before. Iron giants clank and screech as they lumber through the town, bringing down street lamps and telegraph lines. A nagarani's hiss breaks the air as it slithers down the street outside.

Daemons do not engage unless their territory is intruded upon first. Ignis has no intention of going out to fight them. As long as they stay on this side of the barricade, they will be safe. Still, he keeps ready to summon his daggers to hand at a second's notice. At his side, Ravus does the same with a grim determination like he's been doing this all his life.

Is this how Ravus has lived for twelve years under the Empire's eye? On the edge, waiting for his enemies to strike? 

At the start of all of this, he had been much the same to Ignis: tense, wary and reticent. Yet since that time they have fought together and endured Crow's Nest together and very nearly died together, and now they are sitting on the floor of a boarded-up convenience store like delinquent teenagers, trading cup noodle ingredients under the flickering lights.

Ignis feels a rush of pride at having been trusted.

"Ravus?"

"Hm?"

"I'm glad I met you, that day in Altissia."

A pause. "Likewise," Ravus replies, and leans over to steal another shrimp from Ignis' cup.

  
  


Hours pass. Ignis checks the Armiger again, as he has done every evening since waking up in Altissia. The holding space is still silent, the note he had left many days ago still untouched. "Noct?" he calls out softly, voice echoing in the small space, hoping to hear a response he knows isn't coming.

"Gralea will be crawling with daemons," Ravus says. "We might never make it to Zegnautus."

"We fought half an army in Altissia."

"That was when my sister was still alive. For him alone? I don't think I can."

Ignis hears the unspoken  _ Like this, I don't think I can, _ and his heart clenches painfully in his chest. 

Another several minutes tick by. "Do you know," Ravus says slowly, "why I hate Lucis far more than I hate Niflheim?"

Ignis waits for him to continue.

"You said, in Altissia, that Regis and Noctis were not to blame," he says, then pauses. "But the ties between Lucis and Tenebrae run deep. My sister, my mother, and all the Oracles before them - have given their lives to Lucis, unconditionally and without question, and asked nothing in return. Yet when the fires came, when  _ we _ needed something, we were betrayed and left to die. The man who calls himself King of Lucis maintained the Wall for decades, but he would not protect us for even a few short days."

Ignis thinks of Noct, walking into the Citadel ten years from now. He thinks of the betrayal of gods, of the Astral Bahamut watching on as the King of Light is pierced through with a hundred swords, and thinks he does understand.

"... Ignis?"

"Hm?"

"What are you going to do after you get Noctis back?"

"I haven't thought that far ahead," Ignis replies, entirely sincerely. 

  
  
  
  


The night passes, minute by hour. Mindflayers and psychomancers float silently past, occasionally pausing to look in through the dirt-stained glass walls. The roar of a behemoth king shakes the ground. 

"Next question," says Ravus. 

Ignis considers. "How is the fishing in Ulwaat?"

"Bad. It was an excuse for my mother to spend time with Queen Aulea without dad and King Regis hanging around. I preferred my mother's company and Noctis seemed to agree. It was the one thing we had in common. Do you actually like cooking or do you do it because you have to?"

"Sustenance is always needed, I'm adept enough at it, and it is good to see the people I care about happy. So, yes, I like to." Ignis pauses. "You know, you're the first person to ask me that."

"Noctis has no idea what he has in you, does he? Next question."

"Did you and Luna ever make snowmen? While you were in Tenebrae."

"Snowbirds. When she was eight or nine she wanted to make the zu. I couldn't convince her that Ulwaat won't see enough snow in ten years. How many people in your family?"

Ignis counts off on his fingers. "Mother, father, no siblings. Uncle, two cousins five and seven years older, both Citadel officials. Holiday dinners are rather quiet."

"Not close, then." It's more an observation than a question.

"No." Ignis thinks. "None of us have a lot of free time to spend on each other." He considers his next words carefully. "Why did you leave Altissia with me, that day?"

That gives Ravus pause, and when he next speaks it is quieter than before. "You had something you wished to save at any cost," he says. "I know what that is like. I thought you might succeed where I did not."

He's staring at a point on the opposite wall, profile limned with deep regret, and Ignis cannot tear his eyes away. "... And why did you stay?"

If they really are to die here, in a mechanical wasteland coffined in ice—then, very selfishly, Ignis wants to know. What keeps Ravus here, by Ignis' side, even though everything he cares for is gone.

"There is something left that I do not want to lose."

"What?" asks Ignis quietly. Lunafreya's memory, and the last vision of her smile? The remains of Tenebrae, scattered to the winds as its people depart?

Ravus finally turns to look at Ignis then. "You," he says.

That simple and certain revelation hangs in the silence between them, and something in Ignis finally gives way.

"Tell me if this is a mistake," Ignis whispers, brings one hand up to bury in Ravus' hair, and kisses him.

Ravus' lips part as he leans into it, hands going to Ignis' shoulders to pull him closer, and Ignis lets his eyes slide closed, strokes a thumb over Ravus' cheek, and wishes that he can brush away the memory of ashes falling from sylleblossom fields.

Outside, in darkness, the world turns on. The Starscourge rises from the bodies of vanquished daemons, blankets Eos in darkness and blocks out the sun. The displaced populations of Niflheim and Tenebrae flee to Lucis in droves, still searching for a way to live. 

  
  


Hours pass, measured in the tick of the digital clock on Ignis' phone. The night comes and goes, and the dawn never arrives.

Without the sun to send them away, the daemons are still massing outside. "We have to run for it," Ignis says.

1:25 p.m. by Ignis' phone, the sky is pitch dark outside. Ravus breaks the barricade on the door and tosses three magic spheres in quick succession. Ice crystals explode over the ground, and they hack their way through the crowd of frozen black flan to the car. Ravus floors the gas pedal. Dodges the nagarani, speeds past the iron giants, and leaves the city behind in a cloud of road dust and Scourge miasma.

Full speed down the deserted highway into Gralea, the dark pressing inward from all directions, the only light in the world the headlamps illuminating the worn tarmac ahead. In the distance, the towering lines of Zegnautus Keep loom against Niflheim's starless and eternal night.


	9. Day 13: Gralea

Niflheim's capital city is a sprawling metropolis.

Intact and in daylight, it might have been Insomnia's more severe and economical twin, the sharp lines of gray towers and skyscrapers densely packed between gridlike city streets. Now much of the district lies in rubble blocking the city roads, and abandoned cars lie overturned and smoking in the street. 

The two-lane highway into Gralea soars over the uptown roads, winds through the city center and to the restricted zone beyond. There lies Zegnautus Keep, military fortress and Niflheim's last bastion against the encroaching night. The facilities are entirely dark but the walls hum, as if within, the conveyor belts of assembly lines still run.

Ahead, tall iron gates bar the way. Ravus leans out of the driver's window and holds his left wrist to the gate scanner. The red warning light flashes green, and the towering gates creak slowly open.

The grounds are swarming with daemons. Two wraiths and a Gargantua advance down the road and Ravus turns up the headlights to blind them into fleeing. Ignis throws a dagger at the Snaga clinging to the back, sending the daemon flying into the dark, then returns it to the Armiger and summons it back to hand.

They pull to a stop by the fortress' front doors. Ravus picks up the Sword of the Father along with his own. Ignis stares up at the facility, which must be as wide as a stadium and thirty floors high. "Noct…"

Ravus glances his way. "The lower floors are mostly storage and the Crystal is kept right at the top. We might not have to search the entire Keep to find him." Behind them, the rustle and hiss of more daemons approaching.

Ten floors into Zegnautus, another Mindflayer bursts through the far door. Ravus strikes the first blow; Ignis opens the Armiger to draw his daggers and notices the arrangement of things is different. He checks quickly: the Engine Blade is gone, a piece of paper on the floor in Noct's writing. _ In Zegnautus Keep. The Crystal is here. Come quickly. _

"... Noct?" he calls, but the Armiger is silent.

"Noctis is here?" Ravus asks, having dispatched the daemons.

Ignis hands him the note. "He’s here."

"Good," Ravus says. Turns, and leads the way.

The elevator sits at the far end of the cargo loading bay. Ignis slams the button and hears the mechanism whirr to life.

On the other side of the bay Gargantua batters at the towering double doors, denting the sheet metal. A wraith drifts through the gap with a groan, alongside the unmistakable screech of the Foras that has chased them through the last eight floors.

Ravus glances between Ignis and the daemons. He reaches for his left wrist, pulls off the metal covering where the barcode is imprinted and shoves it into Ignis' hands. Miasma leaks from the gap in the magitek, hissing acidly as it makes contact with air. "On the other side of the twentieth floor there is an open-air platform with an elevator. Take that all the way to the top."

"Got it," Ignis says. There's something wrong and he doesn't like it.

The elevator shudders to a halt, its metal grille door sliding open. Ravus grabs Ignis by the shoulder, spins him and kisses him harshly, drags teeth across his lower lip before pulling away. "Remember the promise you made me." He pushes Ignis into the elevator and shoves the Sword of the Father into Ignis' chest. "Give this to Noctis. Tell him... to go forth, and shine light unto the world."

He steps back and wrenches the metal grille closed, turns back, and ignores Ignis' shouts as the elevator ascends.

At floor twenty the elevator doors open to a corridor lit by harsh fluorescent light. Ignis feels the light at his back, but does not turn. He's still staring through the metal grille at the holding bay ten floors below, the distant clash of metal against metal and the hissing of daemon miasma.

Then he wrenches his eyes from the gathering dark, vanishes the sword into the Armiger, and takes off running down the long and narrow corridor.

.

  
  


On the other side is a circular open-air platform linking the top of this tower to the base of the next one. Narrow steel beams stretch out to control panels on both sides. A second elevator reaching into the upper floors sits in the middle of the platform, dark and unresponsive.

Ignis crosses the first passage, the clank of his boots on the floor loud in the silent darkness, and uses the barcode imprinted in the metal to start the control panel back up. The central elevator remains dark. is about to go to the second one when a door to the side slides open. "Iggy! Over here!"

Someone runs out, a second, bigger figure behind him. As they draw closer Ignis makes out Prompto's face, then Gladio's—

—and Noctis, bringing up the rear, exhaustion written in his face but alive and whole.

"Gladio. Prompto, Noct," Ignis says with wonder. "You're here."

"We made it," Gladio says, clapping Ignis on the shoulder. 

Prompto adds, "Even if we had to blow up Niflheim's biggest magitek production labs to do it."

Ignis remembers the reports of power outages and a reactor overload in deep-south Ghorovas. "That was you?"

Prompto nods. "Yep. Pretty awesome, weren't we, big guy?"

He grins, then takes off down the other steel beam towards the second control panel. Noct watches him go, then turns. "What's the matter, Ignis?"

Ignis opens the Armiger, pulls out the Sword of the Father, and holds it out to him. "Here."

"Dad's..." Noct reaches to take the sword, which goes crystalline and translucent in his hand. "Where did you find this?"

"Ravus Nox Fleuret picked it up in Insomnia. He wanted you to have it," Ignis replies.

"Ravus." Noct frowns. "He's helping me?"

"He too is blood of the Oracle," Ignis says. "He too wishes for you to succeed."

Noct nods, face set in grim determination. He raises his hand to summon the Armiger, and Ignis sees the Ring of the Lucii glitter on his right middle finger.

So Noctis has accepted its power after all.

The Sword of the Father takes its place among the other royal arms, crystalline and cold, and it gleams one last time in the harsh overhead light as Noctis motions firmly to send them away.

He looks like a king, Ignis thinks.

Prompto has returned and now he holds one hand under the elevator's own scanner, which obligingly flashes green. The doors slide open, revealing the dark interior. "Got the keys to the kingdom right here," Prompto says, waving at Ignis with a grin. He's lost his usual fingerless gloves and wristbands, and a set of markings on his wrist form the shape of a familiar barcode.

Gladio holds the elevator door, watching Noct and Ignis expectantly.  
Above them, at the very top of the Keep, the Crystal awaits.

Sword in hand, Noctis steps into the abyssal heart of the Keep, and Ignis follows.


End file.
